When Hope Costs Everything : Our Cancer Update and Parkinsons Update
An honest update on cancer, faith, a last-chance medication, City of Hope, a new Honda CR-V, and why we chose family over Egypt
Some moments are worth holding onto. 🌵
A note on Parkinson's & cancer — keep scrolling for our important update ↓
Did you know?
Research shows Parkinson's patients have a nuanced cancer picture. Overall cancer rates are actually somewhat lower than the general population — but with one important exception: melanoma risk runs about 75% higher. For those carrying certain genetic variants of Parkinson's, risks for breast, brain, and blood cancers are also elevated. The relationship is complicated — not simply "more cancer," but a shifted pattern altogether.
Sources: BMJ meta-analysis of 17+ million participants (2021); NIH Mendelian randomization study (2024)
I share this because so many of us are walking similar roads. In my own circle of friends and family, I know people battling prostate cancer, skin cancer, and breast cancer. With the exception of my uncle, lung cancer is the only kind we hadn't personally encountered — and yet here we are, navigating our own version of this journey.
We've reached a new point, and I wanted to share an update.
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The CT scans have shown about 1 cm of growth over the past six months. The main lymph nodes are now almost 3 cm, with many smaller cells present as well. This type of cancer is considered "slow growing" — but it hasn't felt slow to us.
The hormone treatment is no longer working. We are now on a last-chance medication — one that's very controlled, special-order, and honestly not easy to get. I was told it could take weeks, but somehow everything lined up. Medicare, United Healthcare, the doctor, and the pharmacy all moved quickly, and it was approved and ready within a week. For that, I am deeply grateful.
All I can say is that felt like a God moment to me.
And then — just days later — another door opened. We reached out to City of Hope (I am not affiliated — just sharing what happened). The referral hadn't even arrived yet. But within one to two hours they had us scheduled for intake interviews, were already pulling records, and met us with genuine compassion from the very first call. That is God moving. And here is something important for any caregiver reading this: always get a second opinion. We have been on this journey with MD Anderson, and there are doctors there who have been absolutely wonderful. But we have learned — sometimes the hard way — that a second opinion is never a betrayal of your care team. It is an act of love for yourself and your family. If you are on Medicare, you can call City of Hope directly — no referral needed to see a specialist. Your doctor can refer you, or you can simply call yourself.
And right in the middle of all this, we visited a brand new church — and the sermon that day was about anxiety. It met us exactly where we are.
A hope to slow things down… maybe shrink those tumors. If this medication works, we may be given more time — months, maybe a year or a little more. If it doesn't… we face a harder road.
Chemo is off the table and cryo blasting of tumors is not possible — even getting the radiologist to treat the largest tumor seems impossible as minds are made up. Still, I research and talk to the care teams. And they are great care teams.
Of course the questions come. Should we have tried ivermectin? Should we have gone all in on a meat-only diet… or cut every bit of sugar? Should we have made different choices along the way? Even the question about the COVID vaccine crossed my mind.
But here's the truth I come back to: I don't carry regret about that decision. It allowed me to go to California — right in the middle of everything — and be there to take care of my dad and his affairs after he passed suddenly. I was where I needed to be.
And then there are the other things we've been navigating — like strange electrical sensations through the body. We wondered about the osteoporosis shot Prolia, and even magnesium glycinate. But after speaking with the doctor, Prolia has been ruled out — Parkinson's is the likely culprit. Gabapentin, which I'll be honest I was not a fan of before, is actually working this time. Small win — we'll take it.
But still, we come back to this: we have done the best we could with what we knew. We have trusted the paths in front of us. And nothing we can see points to some big mistake.
Even God reminds us — it rains on the just and the unjust alike. I'm no pastor, and I hold that humbly. But I believe in faith, in miracles, and in God's healing. I also know He is in charge, and that sometimes things happen that I don't like — and may never fully understand. That's not doubt. That's trust.
I won't pretend there is no anxiety. That would be a lie — and caregivers deserve better than pretending. What I've been thinking about a lot lately is mindset. Sunday's sermon was a reminder that anxiety and faithfulness are not opposites. They can exist in the same breath, in the same heart, on the same hard day. There is no guilt in feeling both. But we do have to choose. Actively, intentionally choose — to face the fear, cast it upon Him, and keep moving forward. And we may have to make that choice again an hour later. And again after that. Because we are only human. That's not failure. That's the whole walk.
This road is not easy. It's heavy. It's uncertain. But we keep going. We lean on faith. We hold onto hope — whatever that looks like, day by day.
And we love each other through all of it.
Meanwhile, life kept offering things
Right in the middle of all of this — the medication chase, the scans, the uncertainty — an opportunity came up to travel to Egypt. Egypt! The pyramids. The history. The kind of trip that doesn't come around twice.
We couldn't make it work. The cost was too high after buying the car, and we were right in the thick of getting the new medication sorted. But here's what the decision taught us: when we sat down and really thought about it, what we wanted most wasn't the pyramids.
We want to be around our kids. That's it. That's the whole answer. When you're facing what we're facing, the world has a way of clarifying things fast.
Egypt will always be there. Our kids are here now. That's where we want to be.
One more thing
For those wondering — yes, we picked up a 2018 Honda CR-V at a very reasonable price, with what I can only describe as miracle financing through Germain Honda in Surprise. We haven't had a car loan in about twenty years. It felt like one more quiet grace lining up in the middle of a hard season.
He looks good in it. He looks happy. And out here in the desert, air conditioning takes one more stress point off the table — and that matters more than people know.
That smile says it all. New car, air conditioning, one less thing to worry about. And yes — once the new cancer medication is in full swing, driving will be caput. But he will ride in comfort. 🌵
If this post found you at the right moment, or if you just want to help us fund our new car one cup at a time — we are grateful for every single coffee.
Buy me a coffee — help fund our new CR-V ☕
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